Like a musical cockroach crawling over my hardened critical skin, they... will... not... die. And yet, for the fourth time in eight years, they've released an album I cannot hate.
I'll never be able to unreservedly praise Tim Rice-Oxley's piano- driven style of composition or his frequently over-earnest lyrics, but I'll always admire his mystical ability to arrange a succession of notes in such a manner that the tunes stick in my head and I have to physically fight the urge to surrender to their anthemic uplift.





